"See?" Victoria said. "This is exactly what I've been talking about. This attitude of yours--"
"I thought we were talking about Savannah's attitude."
"That's it exactly. I'm trying to bring a serious matter to your attention and you brush it off with quips. This flippant attitude will never make you Coven Leader."
I stifled the urge to remind her that, as of my mother's death, I was Coven Leader. If I did, she'd "remind" me that I was Leader in name only, and this discussion would turn from irritating to ugly in a heartbeat.
"Savannah is my responsibility," I said. "You Elders have made that very clear."
"For good reason."
"Because her mother practiced dark magic. Oooh. Scary. Well, you know what? The only scary thing about Savannah is how fast she's outgrowing her clothes. She's a kid. A normal, rebellious teenager. Not a black witch. She told Brit she could make her a potion. Big deal. Ten to one she can't even do it. She was either showing off or trying to shock us. That's what adolescents do."
"You're defending her."
"Of course I'm defending her. No one else will. The poor kid went through hell last summer. Before my mother died, she asked me to take care of Savannah--"
"Or so that woman told you."
"That woman is a friend of mine. You don't think my mother would have asked me to take Savannah? Of course she would. That's our job. To protect our sisters."
"Not at the risk of endangering ourselves."
"Since when is it more important--"
"I don't have time to argue with you, Paige. Talk to Savannah or I will."
Click.
I slammed down the phone and stalked from my office, muttering everything I wished I'd said to Victoria. I knew when to hold my tongue, though sometimes knowing and doing were very different things. My mother was the political one. She'd spend years working to effect one small change to Coven Law, soothing every rumpled feather and arguing her point with a smile.
Now she was gone. Murdered nine months ago. Nine months, three weeks, and two days. My mind performed the calculation unbidden, springing open the stoppered well of grief. I slammed it shut. She wouldn't have wanted that.
I was brought into this world for one reason. At fifty-two, after a life too busy for children, my mother looked around the Coven and saw no worthy successor, so she found a suitable "genetic donor" and, using magic, conceived me. A daughter born and raised to lead the Coven. Now that she was gone, I had to honor her memory by fulfilling that purpose. And I would, whether the Elders wanted it or not.
I abandoned my computer. Victoria's call had chased all interest in programming from my brain. When I got like this, I needed to do something that reminded me of who I was, and what I wanted to accomplish. That meant practicing my spells--not Coven-sanctioned spells, but the magic they forbade.
In my bedroom, I pulled back the area rug, unlocked the crawl space hatch, and tugged out a knapsack. Then, bending down and reaching farther into the hole, I undid a secret latch, opened a second compartme
nt, and pulled out two books. My secret grimoires. After putting the books into my bag, I headed for the back door.
I was slipping on my sandals when the front doorknob turned. I checked my watch. Three P.M. Savannah didn't get out of school until three forty-five, which is why I figured I had nearly an hour to practice before making her after-school snack. Yes, Savannah was too old for the milk-and-cookies routine, but I did it every day without fail. Let's be honest, at twenty-three I was ill equipped to parent a teenager. Being home for her after school was one thing I could manage.
"What happened?" I asked, hurrying into the hall. "Is everything okay?"
Savannah backpedaled, as if fearing I might do something rash, like hug her. "Teachers' meeting today. Early dismissal. Remember?"
"Did you tell me?"
She rubbed her nose, trying to decide whether she could get away with a lie. "I forgot. But I would have called if I had a cell phone."
"You'll get a cell phone when you can pay for the airtime."
"But I'm too young to get a job!"
"Then you're too young for a cell phone."
Old argument. We knew our lines, and never wavered from them. That was one advantage to being a mere decade older than Savannah--I remembered pulling the same crap with my mom, so I knew how to handle it. Maintain the routine. Give no sign of wearing down. Eventually she'd give up ... not that I ever did.